“All right--I promise. But this is certainly hell!” And he looked his misery; for his habit of life had accustomed Jack Morton neither to suffering nor self-restraint. “But say, I don’t see that you’re working out anything with Maisie Jones--at least I’ve felt no relief.” “You will if you keep your promises.” She looked at the little gold clock--Jack’s gift--on her dressing-table; the hour was exactly four. She must now, with her utmost carefulness, steer the dialogue without Jack’s guessing that it was being steered. “What we’re doing is for the best, Jack,--you must trust me as to that,” she said. “But, of course, things were a lot more comfortable when we were at the Mordona.” “Why, our flat there was heaven!” he exclaimed. She had him talking on the right tack now, and he held the course enthusiastically. Her ears reached out for other sounds than his words; and after a minute or two she heard a slight noise in her sitting-room--and she knew that Maisie Jones had entered; and she knew--in fact she was visualizing it--that Maisie had heard Jack’s voice, that Maisie had suddenly paused and was breathlessly listening. “It was pleasant, Jack,” she said distinctly--her mind’s eye seeing the effect on the tense figure in the next room. “I’ll never forget that little flat, sweetheart,” he enthused. “That week we spent at the Mordona--say, that was living!” “And as Mr. and Mrs. Grayson--” “I wish we were back there now, Mary!” And he seized her hands. “Perhaps when you get things straightened out--and suspicion quieted down--” “You mean about Maisie Jones?” “Yes. Perhaps then we can go back to our flat in the Mordona.” “No. Not back there. The Mordona won’t be safe for us until--you know! But this old town is full of other nice little flats--where we’ll be quiet and cozy and nobody’ll ever find us out. And we’ll do it the minute you say the word!” “And I’ll say the word just as soon as it is safe. You must go, Jack, in just a minute, for I’m expecting some one.” Enough had been said; her little scene was now complete; the listening figure in the next room could put but one interpretation upon what she had heard. Mary let Jack hold her hands and his ardent gaze she returned with a seemingly equal ardor. But her faculties were really all in the next room, witnessing what was happening there. She visioned the girl as standing transfixed at this evidence of Jack’s faithlessness; and then in pain, in a fury of pride, stealing silently away--later to say, if by any chance she ever again spoke to Mary, that she had changed her mind and had decided not to come that afternoon. That stricken, creeping figure was what Mary visioned; that was the way she had calculated human nature would react. What she actually saw, the next moment, was Maisie Jones standing in the doorway, her hands clenched so that her white gloves had burst at a dozen seams, her figure trembling, her blue eyes blazing fury. “I’ve heard everything!” she gasped. “Oh, you--”